


A Merry Dance

by JantoJones



Series: Stand-alone  (The 1st 100) [55]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old enemy causes trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Illya Kuryakin hated this type of assignment. He had lived a long time outside of Russia, but the experiences and doctrines of his youth still remained with him. As such, working undercover as a waiter at a decadent society gala, sat rather uncomfortably with him. It was supposedly a charity fundraiser, and it was this detail which really stuck in Illya's throat. The ticket price for the event was high, but he knew a lot of that went into staging it. Then there were the designer gowns and opulent jewels which were being flaunted. The value of those alone far outstripped the amount which would be donated. Illya would have called it western hypocrisy if he didn't already know it was the same in his country.

As usual, Illya had taken on the role of a waiter. It was a practical cover; allowing him to freely move about the room. Just once, he thought to himself, it would be nice if Napoleon took this role. It wouldn't have worked at this event, however. Napoleon had the natural flair to pass himself off as a well to do businessman.

The Russian worked the room, with his tray of canapés, and gradually made his way towards his partner. Napoleon himself was holding court over a group of giggling debutantes. He wasn't saying anything particularly humorous, but they behaved as though he were the last thing in funny. As Illya approached, deftly sidestepping the couples on the dance floor, he caught the American's eye.

"Canapé, Sir?" he offered, trying not to sneer at the haughty look Solo was giving him.

"Thank you my good man," Napoleon replied, taking one of the bite-sized morsels.

Illya glided away and continued to present the tray to people. Meanwhile, Napoleon made to eat the canapé, but 'accidently' dropped it down his shirt front.

"Would you excuse me ladies?"

Catching up to Illya, Solo snapped his fingers, knowing how much it would irritate the Russian.

"Oh waiter! Would you have a napkin?"

"Certainly, Sir," Illya answered, piercing Napoleon with a glare which promised retribution.

Producing a napkin from beneath his tray, he handed it to Napoleon before moving away. The cloth contained a microfilm, which Kuryakin had received from a contact. It was his job to pass it to Solo, who would then whisk it straight to HQ. They whole thing had gone without a hitch. Making sure the senior agent was free and clear of the building, Illya made his way to the staff exit. It could arouse suspicion if he left via the front still dressed as a waiter. That was when the assignment became less smooth.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Napoleon had been back at HQ for an hour and a half, but Illya had yet to return. Solo had expected him to be only about twenty minutes behind him and was now beginning to worry. Several attempts to contact the missing man proved fruitless. Leaving instruction for communications to keep trying, he went to Waverly's office to brief him on the mission.

Waverly looked up as Napoleon entered the office.

"I understand Mr Kuryakin has gone missing between the gala and here," he stated.

"Yes Sir," Napoleon confirmed, taking a seat. "The pick-up and hand-off went perfectly. I can only assume he was recognised by someone. They can't have been after the microfilm, or they would have followed me."

"Go and find him Mr Solo."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Illya would also have liked to know where he was. Being able to see anything at all would definitely have been a plus. He was blindfolded and gagged, and his arms were shackled behind him, but at least he hadn't been rendered unconscious; yet. All he could remember was stepping out of the back doors of the hotel and being tackled by three masked men. They'd caught him so utterly by surprise, he hadn't had time to react before he was bound and bundled into the back of a vehicle.

Wherever he was being taken to only seemed to take about ten minutes. Illya once again felt himself being manhandled. He was placed on a chair and had his ankles roped to the legs. He had another tying his torso to the back of the chair. For what felt like an eternity, Illya was left like that.

Eventually, someone returned. The gag and blindfold were removed, but before he could get his bearings a bright light was shone into his eyes. Squinting past the light, Illya could just about make out the shape of a person.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The figure stepped into his vision and gave him a predatory smile. Illya slumped in his bonds.

"I should have guessed."


	2. Chapter 2

"I should have guessed."

"Really, Darling?" Illya's captor purred. "With all the enemies you have?"

"What do you want, Angelique?"

The platinum blonde took a seductive draw on her cigarette and blew the smoke into her captive's face. The Russian refused to give her the satisfaction of making him cough, or even turning his head away.

"Napoleon took a microfilm my employers would dearly love to have," she told him. "My idiots here were too late to grab him, so I took you instead."

When Illya didn't respond, she slapped him, hard. He barely flinched, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

"Do you honestly believe I'm worth the microfilm?" he asked incredulously. "Agents are expendable."

"Maybe to Waverly, Darling, but I'm sure Napoleon values you."

"Forget it Angelique," he sneered. "He'll probably attempt a rescue, but he won't bring you what you want."

"Napoleon is so much more fun than you are," she huffed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The party was still going when Solo arrived back at the hotel. Wishing to avoid the giggling debutantes from earlier, he went round to the service entrance and began asking around. He showed everyone Illya's picture and, although everyone had seen him at some point, none of them saw him leave. Napoleon was about to give up searching the staff areas, when he was approached by a chef.

"Hey buddy!"

"Yes?" the agent replied, shooting his cuffs.

"You wouldn't be Napoleon Single would you?"

"Solo."

"Yeah, that's what she said. A blonde dame asked me to give you this," he told him, and handed him a folded note.

Napoleon thanked the man and opened the paper.

_Napoleon Darling,_

_I have your dour little Russian. I'm sure you want him back, so call me on the number below and we can negotiate his release. I'll try not to hurt him too much._

_A_

_Ps. There is no point in trying to trace the number. The call is redirected._

He sighed inwardly. Angelique had been off his radar for a few a months, but she seemed to be back and just as dangerous as ever. For all Napoleon and she enjoyed each other, he had to remember she was still the enemy, and would do what she needed to. Angelique was the epitome of a femme fatale, and she was holding Illya. Quickly locating a telephone, Solo rang the number he'd been given.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Angelique had had Illya restrained into a different position, purely as a punishment for refusing to play her game. She'd tried teasing him, flirting with him, and even threatening him, but none of it elicited any real response from the man. There were few men who could resist her when she got really tried, and Kuryakin was one of those few.

After a painful struggle, resulting a split lip for the Russian, Angelique's goons managed to chain him upright, and spread-eagled in chains attached to the ceiling and floor. She knew of his escapology talents, so was taking no chances. She'd also had him stripped of his jacket and shirt.

"May I let you into a little secret, Darling?" she cooed, as she stoked his chest. "I have no intention of handing you back."

Illya continued to say nothing. Listening to the woman prattle on was beginning to grate on his nerves. What Napoleon saw in her, apart from the physically obvious, was completely beyond him. He tried to tune her out by concentrating on his surroundings. If by some miracle he could get out of his chains, he would need a plan of escape.

There were no windows which would suggest a basement or internal room. That didn't really help him any and there was only one door that he could see. Other than the chair he had initially been tied to, the only other furniture was a table; on top of which were the standard tools of a THRUSH's persuasion arsenal. The three goons were standing in three separate corners of the room; each with a gun trained on him. Illya wasn't going anywhere. The sound of a telephone drew him from his musings.

"That will be our mutual friend," the blonde purred.

"Hello Darling," she said, after picking up the receiver. "I take it you got my little note."

"It's always nice to hear from you Angelique, but it isn't nice to take things which don't belong to you."

"Oh don't be like that Napoleon," she replied sulkily. "I'm just going to play with him for a while. You have until Monday morning to bring me the microfilm you took this evening."

"You know I can't do that," Solo told her. "You might as well let Illya go."

"Darling, if you don't do what I ask by Monday morning, then by Monday evening I can't guarantee that Mr Kuryakin will still be here with us. Call again when you're ready to comply and I'll give you further instruction. If you need a little incentive, keep in mind that Darling Illya will be kept under constant torment until I have want I want. Goodbye Napoleon."

Angelique hung up and crossed back to Illya.

"I do apologise, but you are in for a difficult time," she informed him, with ill-concealed delight. "The longer it goes on, the more you can blame Napoleon."

She clicked her fingers at the nearest goon. "Bring me the riding crop."


	3. Chapter 3

Angelique had told Napoleon that he wouldn't be able to trace the telephone number she'd given him, be he knew he could. At least, he knew Section 4 could. It would take them a little while, so Napoleon took the opportunity to update Mr Waverly.

"This woman is proving to be a thorn in our collective sides, Mr Solo," the Old Man grumbled.

She was definitely an annoyance, but he couldn't deny her affection for his CEA was occasionally useful. Still, it wouldn't do to allow her to abduct his agents whenever she felt like it.

"She has her uses, Sir," Napoleon replied, as though reading his mind.

"Hmmm, yes. Be sure not to lose sight of your duty, young man," Waverly warned, aware exactly of the uses Solo had for her. "Now, what is your strategy for retrieving Mr Kuryakin?"

"As soon as we have a location and a building plan, I will take five agents and mount an extraction," Solo explained. "Do you want Angelique brought in, Sir?"

Napoleon didn't really relish the thought of having to apprehend her. For all she was the enemy, he had quite a soft spot for her. Several in fact, he thought to himself, smiling at some nice memories.

"I repeat, Mr Solo, don't lose sight of your duty.

Within two hours, Napoleon had been furnished with the address and building plan for Angelique's location. He'd gathered together the first five agents, who were free, he could find. They all sat around Waverly's conference table as Solo outlined his plan.

"The building is an industrial unit with a main floor and a basement," Napoleon explained, as he pointed to the floor plan on the projector. "Jones, Peterson and Willis, you'll take the front entrance and the main floor. Ferris and Grant, you'll be with me at the back entrance and basement. We don't know how many personnel we'll have to deal with, but you'll be armed with sleep darts only."

"Sleep darts, Sir?" queried Grant.

"Yes Mr Grant," Waverly interjected. "We don't kill unless we have to."

"Yes Sir."

Napoleon showed the agents a picture of Angelique, which drew an appreciative whistle from a couple of them.

"This is Angelique LeChien, gentlemen," he informed them. "She is extremely dangerous and must be handled with caution. Our main priority is Mr Kuryakin, but our secondary agenda is Angelique."

"I am sending a medical team with you Mr Solo," Waverly told him. "I am in no doubt that Mr Kuryakin will be in need of it."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Illya was indeed in need of medical attention; his back was a mess. After the crop, Angelique had sat down on the chair and instructed one of her goons to use a bullwhip and a cat o' nine tails while she interrogated him. She had ambitions to rise high in the hierarchy, and saw Kuryakin as her means to that end. She knew Napoleon wouldn't bring the microfilm, so decided instead to coerce some information from the Russian, before handing what was left of him over to Central.

Following three hours of the interrogation, with no information being extracted from him, Illya had passed out for a while. While he was unconscious, Angelique sat back and enjoyed the view. She really didn't like the man. His refusal to submit was intensely frustrating, but she had to admit he was very nice to look at. His ability to withstand physical duress was also to be admired. She didn't know of any THRUSH operative who could take what the Russian could. A low groan informed Angelique that her captive was coming to. Standing up, she gripped his hair and lifted his head.

"Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?" she asked sweetly. "I'll stop hurting you if you do."

"Allez au diable, putain!" _(Go to hell, whore!)_

"That isn't a nice thing to say, Darling." she snarled, slapping him across the face. "It would also appear that Napoleon doesn't care about you as much as I thought."

"I told you," Illya grunted. "Agents are expendable."

"Mademoiselle!"

"What is it?" Angelique yelled, annoyed by the interruption.

"A load of U.N.C.L.E. agents are outside. Solo is with them."

Illya chuckled, despite the pain. "Seems I was wrong."

"Go and deal with them then," the blonde ordered, then turned her attention back to Kuryakin. "Time to go, Darling. Say goodbye to Napoleon for me."

Much to Illya's distaste, Angelique kissed him on the lips, then let go of his hair. His head dropped, but he lacked the strength raise it and watch her go.

It took Solo and the agents all of ten minutes from arriving to secure the building and its guards. He found Illya hanging limply from his chains, and winced at the man's damaged back. It was a marvel to him that his partner's torso wasn't entirely comprised of scar tissue. While he and Agent Ferris released the Russian, Grant called the medical team in.

"Hey, Tovarisch, you okay?"

"Of course," Illya mumbled, as he was loaded onto a stretcher, face down. "Aren't I always?"

"Where's Angelique?"

"She left."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"There was no sign of her Sir," Napoleon told Mr Waverly, giving his verbal report. "We did find a hidden panel leading to a tunnel. She must have gotten out that way."

"Very convenient," the Old Man harrumphed.

He never liked to think ill of his CEA, but if the other agents hadn't corroborated his version of events, he could easily have believed Solo had let the blasted woman go. Before he could comment further, the door opened, and Illya Kuryakin limped in. The Russian looked drawn and tired, which was hardly surprising.

"Shouldn't you be in medical, Mr Kuryakin?"

"No Sir."

The Old Man didn't pursue the matter. He knew, as did everyone in the building, that the only way to keep that young man in medical was to sedate him. Waiting until Illya had sat down, he prompted Napoleon to continue his report.

"The three henchmen Angelique had with her have been most forthcoming," Napoleon told them. "They have given us the location of two satrapies."

"Very well, Mr Solo, you will look into these satrapies and organise raids. Mr Kuryakin, you will help with the research aspect."

Acknowledging the order, the two men left the office. They walked in silence for a while, until Illya placed a hand on Solo's arm.

"Napoleon, thank you," he said quietly. "You came for me as always and I hope will continue to do so."

"Always, Tovarisch. You know that."

"And I will do the same for you, my friend," Illya promised. "But I want you to know, the next time my path crosses Angelique's, I will kill her."

As they carried on the walk to their office, Napoleon was in no doubt that Illya meant his words. The steel in his icy blue eyes was testament to that.


End file.
